#neksa

ref study turned into brendan and neksa . the studying part got a little lost but always happy to see them haha

ref used below:

Brendan heard her yelp before he saw her again. He sat up straighter and stopped his mindless leg swinging. It was easy to spot the girl, her familiar figure sticking out like a sore thumb on the empty London street.

Her hair was tied into a messy ponytail held high on her head and her linen dress was filthy with grime and hard work.

It wasn’t uncommon to see young women and girls a mess of dirt and sweat, not anymore. It never was to Brendan in the first place.

In his family, no matter what you were—boy, girl, woman, man; everyone was given a job. And no matter the filth or shit you’d had to stick your hands into, the piss stained sewers and foul smelling slums, that job was to be completed without failure. Because failure meant death and an unimaginable sense of grief he couldn’t seem to escape.

Brendan shakily exhaled.

The financial crisis that Britain was going through, (The Devil’s Decade according to his father) was helping naught with business either. Hittin’ the North hard, his Da had told him and Jess once. They were lucky to live in the home they did with food on their plates and proper rooms to sleep in. A reminder of those words sat true outside their windows every night with eyes of defeat.

And foolishly he realized that with his reflecting came staring, and staring seemed to get the girl’s attention. <(better transition)

“Hey, you! What’re you starin’ at?“ she yelled over to him. He startled and looked around before stupidly realizing she was talking to him. She rolled her eyes and started walking closer to where he was sat.

Walk away, his mind whispered. It’s just another girl, walk away. You’ve got barely five minutes ‘til you’re expected back, sack it off. And yet, he couldn’t. For some reason, this girl, this completely average, filthy as dirt girl drew his attention. And maybe it was her dark shining eyes, or the pure spunk in her voice. Maybe it was the kindness and the small semblance of peace she gave him, something to settle to constant buzzing in his mind. He shouldn’t. He needs to walk away, never to see her again—

“You alright?” he asked her suddenly and she cocked her head.

“I’m perfectly content,” she started, “are you alright? You look properly down in the dumps. Don’t see a reason for it, either, you look lucked out.” Lucked out in the poor reality of failing families and lost homes he was, he grimly mused to himself.

“I’m fine.” The girl (he really had to learn her name) didn’t seem to be convinced.

“Oh, and I’m the Queen’s niece,” she scoffed. “You look constipated with all that thinking you’re doing.”

Brendan huffed with indignation. “I am fine. Leave me be, go back to milkin’ cows or whatever you do.” He walked away, once and for all he declared to himself.

“Do you talk to everyone you meet that way?” She stomped over to his moving figure and kept a steady pace with him.

He resolutely ignored her. She didn’t seem to like that.

“Hello? Anyone there?” Brendan huffed as she hesitantly poked his arm. “Oh, don’t be a big baby. What is it with men and getting sensitive when talking about feelings?” She mumbled the last part under her breath but Brendan heard her clear as day.

Maybe he’d run into Jess, or (gods forbid) his Da. They’d get him out of this situation. Well, he scowled, his idiot twin would run off without a second thought once he caught his eye. He clenched his jaw and the pretty girl seemed to notice.

“Is that it? You don’t want to talk about feelings?” She asked, not unkindly.

Brendan shouldn’t answer. He shouldn’t. He should keep walking away like he’d do to any other lady, any other lad, towards a house that wasn’t a home, could never be a home.

Jess: 16/17, tattoo of a closed book on his chest over his heart, scars/cuts on his hands

Brendan: shaggy hair, can raise one eyebrow, tiny scar on his chin, scar on his upper face (“as if he hadn’t a care in the world except for the bloody wound in his head”)

Liam: sharp nose, shaggy blonde-ish hair, died at 17

Thomas: blonde hair, pale eyebrows, blue eyes, is large (looked big enough to bend iron, mugs look like teacups in his hands), neat square writing not a spare loop or line

Khalila: hijabi, dark skin, intense big brown eyes, can also raise one eyebrow, short, dimples, wide eyes

Glain: “raw-boned”, long legs, not light, curling brown hair, dark eyes, tall, chopped her dark hair closer for convenience/short-cropped, solid curves of endurance and strength, warm woody brown skin under sun, sharp impatient print, three tattoos

Zara: dark green eyes, dark round face

Anit: copper skin, straight black dark hair worn in a shoulder length cut, petite and pretty, ring necklace, 14 in paf

Dario: bronze skin, wavy black hair, a goatee, black/dark brown eyes, very white teeth, light muscle, shadow of a beard, longer hair

Wolfe: black eyes, dark skin, shoulder length black and grey hair

Santi: hazel eyes, tattoo inked high on his bicep is a lion, unscarred face, not overly tall, sharp chin, long straight nose, heavy dark brows, close cropped dark hair, deep brown Italian, lines on his face

Morgan: light brown honey eyes, pale skinned with lustrous brown hair, thin and smoothly curved, pointed chin

Brightwell: a smaller man, runted in his youth

Mrs brightwell: ash blonde hair streaks of silver

Danton: pale with flaxen blonde hair, eyes more silver than blue, light grey eyes

Artifex magnus: white hair shorn close to the scalp, square face that’s lean and strong, frosted blue eyes like winter, purple robes, gnarled fingers, old man/old face, shocking white beard, intimidating

Keria Morning: tall bronze woman, sharp features, backswept dark hair that falls to her waist, streaked with silver, LOOKS nearly 50 according to jess

Neksa: hair swept back in a braided queue, pretty, shark cheekbones, blushed copper skin, Egyptian